


Mind, Body, Heart, and Soul

by TrulyMightyPotato



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series), Thomas Sanders, Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Arson, Body Horror, Coma, Dangerous Clouds, Deceit is Not Sympathetic, Deity, Energy Siphoning, Extensive Scarring, Found Family, Gen, Grief and Loss, Irresponsible Persons in Power, Kidnapping, Manipulation, Mentions of Suicide, Paranormal Beings, Possession, Self Confidence Issues, Sorta Superpowers Sorta Magic, Suicide mention, Teen/Young Adult Ages, Undead, child abuse mention, platonic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-05
Updated: 2019-06-16
Packaged: 2019-06-22 11:23:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 12,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15580878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TrulyMightyPotato/pseuds/TrulyMightyPotato
Summary: Logan, Virgil, Patton, and Roman are Specials (Special Task Force) in a world where paranormal beings run wild, and they're the ones in charge of keeping people safe--a job that, statistically speaking, will have three of them dead before Patton turns 50. But you can't return the powers gods give you, even if you got them before you were born and have no recollection of even agreeing to doing something this dangerous, so all you can do is stick with your team and protect each other to try to stay alive.The key word being "try."





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Make sure to pay attention to the tags, because this is not going to be a story that's for the faint of heart.

Virgil had been the first.

Team Elemental hadn’t found him, like they’d later found the other three, but he’d instead found them. They hadn’t even been aware that their successors had been born yet, much less that they were coming into their powers.

Granted, Virgil had been very young--young enough that when a hydra emerged from Lake Maria and started terrorizing the streets of Horizon, he didn’t know enough to be afraid of it.

That changed pretty fast when it started eating people.

One of his mothers screamed (though lots of people were doing that) and the other one snapped into action, scooping him up and grabbing her wife’s wrist and running with them for the closest building. It was a little restaurant, a family-owned place, with a bunch of windows looking out on the street.

So, as Virgil’s mothers tucked under a table for safety, he took his little self and pressed up against the wall, eyes peeking out the few inches of window he could see out of.

It was ten minutes before Team Elemental teleported into the scene--and the fact that it was Team Elemental and not one of the other dozen or so around the globe meant this hydra was a big problem.

In that time, fifty people died.

The newspapers would hail the fight as one of Team Elemental’s best, as one of their fastest, but Virgil would always wonder exactly how much of that was due to what happened as they tried to drive the hydra back into the lake.

Fire and Earth were pressing the hydra back, and Water was swooping people out of the danger range. Air was over it all, presumably calling out the location of people for Water to wash to safety.

And that was when it happened: one of the hydra’s heads snapped up and bit Air, dragging her down, and then shook her violently before letting her fly.

She crashed through the window in the restaurant with enough force to send the table they were hiding under flying and make a sizable dent in the cash register counter.

Both of his mothers were screaming now, but Virgil just stared with wide eyes, taking in the blood splattered across the walls and tables, the way Air was slumped and unmoving, the giant gashes torn through her armored uniform and the blood just spilling out.

He would later describe it as feeling the need to help, and the knowledge that he could. So while his mom was holding his mother, trying to comfort her while trembling herself, he walked towards Air. His shoes crunched on the bloody, broken glass. He reached out and put his hand on the biggest gash running through Air’s side, and... opened a dam of energy he hadn’t known existed until that moment.

Glowing purple haze spread across the wound, then seeped in, and then the bone and muscle began reweaving itself.

He wasn’t sure how long he stood there, but it was long enough for the wound to close and the purple to spread to several smaller, but still serious ones. And then he was too tired, so he sat, and the purple wisped away.

And after that, well, it was undeniable that he was going to be one of the next Specials. The purple had, after all, fully stained his hair and eyes purple--as they would stay until he died.

The next time he met Team Elemental, he was eleven. He’d come home from school to find them sitting around the living room with his mothers, talking. And then they’d pulled him aside. And at the end of that conversation, the decision was made.

When he was twelve, he left normal school and a normal life and entered training.

For a while, he was the only one Team Elemental trained. There were talks of others, of those who had the same kind of abilities as he did, who produced the same kind of smoke he did when they used their abilities, but none of them were twelve yet, so it didn’t matter. They weren’t old enough to be trained.

He was fourteen when he met Logan, a boy from southern Averdome--the second person on their four-person team, whose magic had marked him dark blue.

They got along well. They were both fairly withdrawn, and exercised caution in training rather than just charging straight in. They made a good team, and Virgil started to have hope for the future. Maybe he could actually do this well.

Those hopes shattered when they met Roman only a few months later.

Where Virgil was withdrawn, Roman was outgoing. Where Virgil exercised caution, Roman threw it to the wind. Where Virgil was quiet, Roman was loud.

Some of it, he knew, was because of Roman still being twelve. Surely he’d grow more serious as they all got older.

Hopefully.

(He didn’t.)

Patton was the fourth and final member of their team, a year younger than either Logan or Roman, and two years younger than Virgil.

And while Virgil and Roman didn’t agree on many things, they united over fierce protectiveness over Patton.

As the years passed, and they took their public names and their uniforms, they became Team Spirit: Mind (Logan), Body (Virgil), Heart (Patton), and Soul (Roman). Of course, they didn’t start out handling the big problems. When they went public, Patton was only sixteen. And Team Elemental was never far away in case they were needed (which they were sometimes).

And then, when Virgil was 19, Team Elemental didn’t come home.

Instead, their bodies were laid on the streets, destroyed by a thick fog of darkness. Whatever had killed them, whatever had been hiding in the fog, retreated into itself and disappeared.

And Team Spirit, too young to take the full mantle, stepped up and took the mantle.

And now Virgil was 20, and Patton had barely celebrated his 18th birthday. None of them even old enough to drink the fun alcohol and the fate of the world rested on their shoulders.

At least they had each other.

The thought comforted Virgil as he drifted off to an oddly comfortable sleep.

\-----

Virgil didn’t realize anything was wrong until he woke enough to recognize the sensation of regenerating his own damaged body.

His eyes flew open, and his eyes immediately stung.

He rolled over, off his bed, and dropped into the small pocket of air that wasn’t filled with smoke.

Smoke.

He coughed hard enough to tear at his throat, breathing painful.

Smoke.

The base was on fire.

He pulled himself up, stumbling towards the doors, mind racing. The others- he was the lightest sleeper, if he’d slept long enough for the fire to get this bad- why had he slept so deeply- he’d known the cake had tasted weird- who’d drugged them and why- were the others even awake, he was the only one to process drugs and poisons so quickly-

He opened his door into an inferno.

He gasped, immediately coughing as the heat scorched his lungs. He tucked his mouth under his night shirt, trying to work out a plan of action.

Patton’s room was closest to the fire.

He rushed across the hall, throwing the door open, only to find Patton unmoving and unresponsive. Even when Virgil shook him, Patton didn’t so much as stir.

They’d definitely been drugged.

Virgil cursed softly, hefting Patton over his shoulder and immediately heading to the next room.

Logan was also unconscious, and didn’t even prod when Virgil tried giving him a mental prod. No, Logan’s telepathic abilities were as asleep as he was.

So he threw Logan over the other shoulder and stumbled back into the hallway.

He still had to get to Roman’s room, but he couldn’t carry more. As it was, he was nigh-buckling under both Patton and Logan’s weight, and he was sure it was only his desperation that was making him able to stagger down the hall with them.

There. There was the window he was looking for--the one overlooking the outside training grounds, where they still had the equipment set up from their last session earlier in the day. Specifically, the padding they used to catch Roman in case he fell while teaching himself how to fly with his telekinetic abilities.

He kicked the window, spreading cracks through it. And again. And again.

Virgil let Patton and Logan thud to the floor, bending over, coughing so hard he felt he might lose a lung.

If he was this bad-

He glanced over his shoulder at Roman’s room.

He needed to hurry.

He crouched, grabbing Patton, and kicked the window one last time. It shattered, and Virgil dropped Patton down onto the thick padding--he bounced once, then rolled to a stop near the edge of the mat.

He picked up Logan--and this time, the faintest tickling of Logan trying to mentally reach out to him tickled him. And then it faded.

Well, at least Logan was trying to wake up.

And with that, he threw Logan out the window onto the padding below, and turned to get Roman.

The fire was raging into the sitting room by this point, and Virgil ducked his head behind his arm.

He had to get Roman.

So into the fire he went.

Immediately, the flames were clawing at him, grabbing his clothes and skin, burning what they could and melting the rest.

When he burst into Roman’s room, the smoke from the fire immediately illuminated with the red and orange from the raging flames and the purple from Virgil desperately trying to regenerate himself enough to keep going.

Roman, Roman, Roman was laying on the bed, skin already beginning to blister from the heat, still unconscious--though Virgil had no doubt that was caused by the smoke inhalation at this point, not the drugging.

He grabbed Roman, fingers and arms screaming, and turned back into the fire, pouring all of his concentration into healing Roman, into keeping Roman alive.

Six feet from the broken window, he fell. He fell, and Roman slid forward and out the window and off the edge, purple smoke dissipating from around him.

Virgil tried to push himself up, only for the world to sway once and his arm to crumple.

He tried to regenerate himself, just enough to reach the window and fall out, but his well of power was too empty to react. He’d used so much healing Roman.

He forced his eyes open one last time, though they filled with tears as the flames engulfed him.

He could have sworn the smoke was taking an all-too-familiar shape, like it was forming the cloud that had killed their predecessors.

He could have sworn he saw a figure stepping through the flames towards him, cape swaying untouched, clothing largely black.

He could have sworn he heard Patton shouting for him from below.

He could have sworn he saw yellow magic smoke emerging, winding around the figure’s fingers.

He could have sworn any number of things, but the agony was too much, and gave in to the flames.


	2. Aftermath

The fire had gone out, and Patton was left staring blankly at the burnt out shell of what used to be their home, holding an oxygen mask to his face to help combat the severe smoke inhalation. It was gone. It was gone, and so was Virgil.

No, that didn’t feel right. It didn’t settle right in his heart. Virgil wasn’t dead, he couldn’t be dead--it just... didn’t work like that.

Virgil was Body. He was the strongest, the fastest, the one capable of healing himself and others. He had to have been able to do something,  _ anything,  _ to save himself.

And then there was the nagging feeling that what he’d seen when he was calling Virgil’s name, before he’d passed out again from not having enough air... it couldn’t be.

A hand landed on his shoulder, and Patton instinctively flinched away, both from the suddenness of it and the pain that sent rocketing through him.

“Are you okay?”

That’s the voice of the Director, a comforting man known only as Remy. He didn’t look all that much older than Virgil, but Patton knew that was a lie. Remy was human, sort of, and that sort of made all the difference.

Remy  _ had  _ been entirely human at one point, before he’d been cursed to sleep for a hundred years. Nobody was quite sure what it did to Remy, but it was a common jokes among teams that Remy never slept, not anymore.

“Patton,” Remy said gently.

Patton pulled the oxygen mask from his face. “How can I be okay?”

Speaking triggered a cough, and then more, until Patton was in too much pain to breathe, much less continue speaking.

Remy sighed softly, pulling Patton into his side and holding him close until the coughing subsided.

“How did you do it?” Patton whispered. He’d long known Remy had lost his team, two hundred years ago, but... it had always seemed like such a distant thing, stuff of legends.

Remy sighed. “I didn’t, not at first.” He pulled away, stepping in front of Patton, forcing Patton to take in the baggy nature of Remy’s clothes, the blindfold bound across his eyes, the long hair Remy hadn’t had time to put up yet. “For me, it happened in an instant--we were all there, and then I was waking up a century later and they were all so long dead their bodies were gone.” He crouched, drawing even with Patton. “And I wasn’t even the same person any more. I couldn’t do the things I could do before. I was... what I am now.” He idly gestured, midnight blue smoke and gold dust generating from the motion. “I can’t offer you comfort, Patton. I don’t have any to give.”

Patton stared at Remy, then burst into tears.

Remy pulled his hand over Patton, letting the stardust tumble over Patton’s shoulders.

Immediately, Patton fell still, crumpling halfway as he immediately fell into sleep.

Remy caught him.

“We’ll talk more when you’ve recovered,” he murmured. He looked up at the healer approaching with a stretcher. “I put him to sleep. I would request they all share rooms, or be next to each other, in the healing clinic.”

“We can do that,” the healer assured. They paused, clearly hesitating. “Any sign of Body?”

Remy shook his head, even as he helped the healer move Patton onto the stretcher. “Heart says he collapsed before he could get out.”

The doctor frowned. “What of a body, then?”

Remy jammed his hands into his pockets. “No.” He turned to walk off, cloak swirling around his ankles, raising a hand in farewell. “Let me know if anything changes.”

“But, Director-”

Remy just stuck his hand back in his pocket and walked off.

\----

The healers were skilled, that much was undeniable. The fact that in only a matter of days, they’d managed to repair the damage to Logan’s lungs and speed along the multitude of burns he had--that was an excellent testament to it.

They also had considerable skill in medicines, allowing Patton and Logan to ease the pain of their injuries to actually be able to sleep through the pain at night. They left Logan’s mind more scrambled than not, though, and between that and healing he couldn’t find the energy to even try to wake Roman.

Roman.

Roman hadn’t woken.

Neither of them had been allowed to see him yet, either. There was, of course, the fact that neither of them were really allowed to get out of bed yet, that neither of them were strong enough yet. And then there was the news they’d get about Roman, about how complicated his burns were, about how he was going to need serious rehab to fully regain strength, about so many things they wished they didn’t have to think about.

And then there was the thing they really didn’t want to think about.

Who was going to tell Virgil’s mothers?

They had to know something was wrong. Virgil usually called them at the end of every week, at least, and that hadn’t happened. But with the base gone, they had no way of contacting the remaining members of the team.

Remy eventually pulled Logan and Patton aside to talk about that. It took a solid hour, but Patton slipped away to call Virgil’s mothers, and Logan was left with the much more distasteful task of deciding what to do for Virgil’s memorial.

Virgil’s body hadn’t been found, after all.

And that struck Logan as odd. The fire hadn’t burned for long enough to make that happen--Patton had said it burned for twenty minutes before help came to put it out.

Twenty minutes wasn’t long enough to turn a body to ash. That took a minimum of an hour. Char, absolutely, but not ash, not something that would have rendered Virgil’s body unrecognizable as such.

So what had happened to it? Was Virgil even actually dead? Sure, he knew what the healers had said when they’d gotten Roman, that he had so much of Virgil’s power healing him that it could have easily debilitated Virgil alone, and that logically meant Virgil was dead. When Logan had questioned it, he’d been given a shrug and a half-hearted “he might have pushed himself into dissolution,” which sounded both disgusting and implausible. Dissolution was incredibly rare, and had never occurred in someone as young as Virgil--especially since Virgil had taken great care to stretch his limits in training and wasn’t yet strong enough to physically dissolve at the force of his own abilities.

Something wasn’t lining up. Something wasn’t falling into place, and there was definite doubt about the whole matter of Virgil being dead.

He didn’t know what it was, though. He didn’t have the solid proof he needed to mount an investigation, to challenge the official ruling.

Some use it was being on a Special Task Force.

Still, though, he numbly discussed the options with Remy for the memorial. Virgil’s mothers would, of course, get some say in the matter, but Specials memorials were more inflexible than the average funeral.

Largely because half the time there wasn’t a body.

It could have been worse, he supposed. Virgil could have been turned into a vampire by a rogue coven. They would have had to stop him themselves and not only properly kill him, but then be forced to carry the knowledge that they’d done so for the entire rest of their lives.

It wasn’t that much worse, though, as it was. Knowing that Virgil had saved all three of them before dying was somehow... more difficult than imagined. 

Logan stepped away from the conversation, though, pushing his glasses up with his hand and reaching out to Patton with his mind. He needed to let the youngest member of their group know that he was going to go see if he could sit with Roman--just in case he woke up soon.

Or slipped away to never wake again.

Gods knew Patton couldn’t handle losing two teammates.


	3. Memorial

It wasn’t fair, Patton decided, that the weather matched his heart--heavy and crying, melting, tearing open with sudden flashes of delightful memories and echoing with the rumbles of knowing it could never happen again.

Patton huddled into his uniform jacket, slipping his hands inside the sleeves.

It wasn’t fair. They’d had to get new uniforms just for this. Their old ones had been too damaged by the fire to be useful, much less appropriate for this. And they weren’t even the normal uniforms, they were fancier, more formal versions.

Logan’s mind brushed his softly, and Patton looked up and gave Logan a reassuring smile, though he couldn’t hide the tears welling up in his eyes.

It wasn’t fair. Patton could feel the emotions of everyone in the courtyard, and everyone was miserable. The happiest person was a little girl in the third row, sixth seat, and she was just confused. She was too young to know what death was, or what it meant.

She would be too young to remember Virgil.

It wasn’t fair. Roman was still unconscious, and it had been a full four days since Virgil had-

Patton raised his hands to his mouth, biting down on the sturdy material of his jacket. Even if he hadn’t, his gloves were strong enough to keep him from really hurting himself, but he didn’t want to do that. He wanted to cry. But he couldn’t, because people were here, and the Director was speaking, and he couldn’t be Patton right now, he was Heart, and Heart had to be strong.

It wasn’t fair. Virgil had been twenty. He wasn’t supposed to die, not yet, not like that. They were supposed to be the team that beat the odds, that made it to retirement with all four team members alive. That was the plan, that was what they’d promised each other would happen. They were all supposed to fall in love and marry beautiful and strong and otherwise delightful men and adopt or not adopt children as they pleased and be  _ happy- _

Logan’s arm went over his shoulders, and Patton choked back a sob. Immediately, a wave of pity and sorrow and compassion swept in from the crowd, crashing down on his shoulders, the force of it sending him nearly crashing to his knees.

It wasn’t fair. He knew how to block out panic from other people, he’d had to in order to even start going on missions, but- grief had never been one he could handle. Grief had always been one that could sideline him in the middle of a fight. It was just so  _ heavy,  _ so sticky, so much like drowning, that he couldn’t ever fight it off.

Virgil had always been there to look out for him before when that happened. Virgil had protected him countless times before, taking damage and injuries that would kill the normal person. He always regenerated so fast, faster than the healers could heal someone. And when he’d failed to protect Patton, he was always there to heal him, to keep him in the realm of the living just a little bit longer.

It wasn’t fair. Virgil was more than just a friend, he was family. The whole team was family. And they were supposed to  _ stay  _ family forever.

Well, Patton supposed as Logan dropped his arm and started walking up to the podium, they were still family. They always would be. That wouldn’t change. But they didn’t know how long it would be before they were all reunited, before he’d get to see Virgil again and run up to him and hug him.

At one point, he would have said it would be years, decades, before they even had to worry about it, but that was clearly not the case. He had to worry about it now. At one point, he would have said that Virgil was there to protect them, that it would be years and years and years before anyone died, but now that he was gone... Any of them could die at any time, and there was nothing that could be done about it.

It wasn’t fair. Logan shouldn’t have to be up there, speaking of Virgil, speaking of Body, of the young man they’d considered a brother. Logan shouldn’t have to bear this weight of becoming the next team leader at nineteen. Roman shouldn’t be in a coma at nineteen. Patton shouldn’t have lost his brother on his birthday.

So many shouldn’ts.

Patton wiped his face on his sleeve as Logan stepped down, stepped back, opening the space for Patton to speak. He wiped off his heart as he stepped forward, tucking it away where it wouldn’t immediately make him cry when he opened his mouth. He wiped up the tears and the grief, locking it behind a structurally unsound dam that would undoubtedly break only a few sentences into Patton’s words.

He walked up, putting his hands on the podium and straightening his back like the lessons Roman had given him said to do.

Whatever speech he’d had memorized for this moment fled. He could feel Logan whispering prompts into his mind, but none of them felt right.

So he opened his mouth and spoke.

“It isn’t fair.”

Shock ran throughout the crowd.

“It isn’t fair that we live in a world where the gods choose some of us to protect the rest. It isn’t fair that, statistically speaking, I will be dead before my fiftieth birthday, thirty-two years from now.” His fingers gripped the podium tighter, and he knew if his fingers were visible, they would have gone white from gripping it so hard. “It isn’t fair that the first one of us to die was Body, the one capable of healing. It isn’t fair that I’m standing in front of you at the ripe old age of eighteen and have saved three hundred and eighty six lives and have seen things no one should have ever seen, and society demands I continue doing it until it kills me.”

Logan’s telepathic whispers were quiet, and the crowd was full of confusion and shock.

“It isn’t fair that Team Spirit is standing in front of you today, half of what we’re supposed to be. That Soul is in a coma and we don’t know if he’ll ever wake up. It isn’t fair that we were all drugged, and that that doesn’t constitute enough evidence to determine the fire was arson, that someone deliberately tried to kill us before our career as Specials could really take off.” 

He sighed, shoulders slumping.

“But life isn’t fair, is it? Or I wouldn’t be standing here, vividly aware of the fact that one of my brothers will never come through my bedroom door to talk to me after a mission, that he’ll never bake me another cake or help me come up with a reasonable explanation as to why my suit is torn--something that’s not the honest ‘Soul and I were seeing what would happen if we taped knives to a roomba and then tried riding it around the base’.”

A spike of outrage came from the far corner, where Patton had seen one of the uniform department sitting, and a wave of amusement from Remy behind him.

“Life isn’t fair, or Specials wouldn’t have a 90% fatality rate. Life isn’t fair, or I wouldn’t have to stand here with the knowledge that I may very well save your lives again and again and again and none of you will even  _ think _ of saying a simple thank-you, so convinced you are that the  _ honor  _ of staring death in the face for forty eight years is one I wanted and not one that was forced on me at the age of six when I forced the adults abusing my sister and I to  _ feel  _ regret and shame to such a degree that when the Director came to investigate the huge magic readings, he found my parents’ bodies hanging off the second-story railing.”

Horror swept across the crowd. Clearly, the vast majority of people hadn’t ever bothered to actually read his public information to know that he and his sister had been orphaned by suicide, much less put everything together.

Of course, considering that Specials were almost a part of myth from the time they were chosen, he could see why people wouldn’t do that. Wouldn’t want to ruin the image of their perfect heroes.

“Life isn’t fair, or the gods wouldn’t feel the need to make Specials exist.” He straightened his shoulders. “Life isn’t fair. Neither is death. So you can bet your bottom dollar that I’ll sacrifice myself a hundred times over before I let one of my remaining brothers die.” He stepped back and walked back to his spot, not even bothering to end it properly.

He wanted to go home. But they didn’t have one any more.

He wanted Roman.

He wanted Virgil.


	4. Soul Awakens

The first time Roman woke, he was alone. His body and mind were the kind of dull that meant he’d been given heavy painkillers, and it was a struggle to even open his eyes to see the familiar pastel walls of a sick room in the clinic.

Virgil.

He didn’t know what had happened, but Virgil--he’d felt Virgil’s powers working on him. Virgil and pain.

Roman turned his head, trying to see if either Patton or Logan were near him, but... nothing. There was definitely a chair there, but it was empty.

Were they okay?

He wanted to get up, to look to try to find them, but his eyes were already sliding closed again, exhaustion already overcoming him.

\-----

The next time Roman woke, the unmistakable smell of a bitter healing salve was filling his nose. He instinctively groaned, flicking his eyes open against the light.

“Soul!” the healer attending to him gasped, clearly delighted. “Good afternoon.”

Roman frowned, brow furrowing as he focused on the healer. “What... what happened?” His voice rasped painfully in his throat, and he immediately coughed, sending agony shooting through his chest.

“There was a fire.” The healer set something aside with a soft  _ thud,  _ then brought out a little penlight. “Body managed to get you out. It’s thanks to his healing that you even lived long enough for us to get you here.” They turned on the light. “Follow the light with your eyes for me, would you?”

Roman complied, except for the few times the pain in his chest got to be too much and he started coughing again.

“Heart, Mind, are they-” Roman broke off with a choked shout of pain as the healer touched his arm and helped him sit up.

“They’re fine. Body got them out before he went back for you.” The healer hesitated. “After I’m finished changing your bandages, if you’re still awake, do you want me to bring them in?”

Roman nodded, no longer trusting his voice.

And then he realized.

“...Body too.”

The healer pursed their lips, shoulders slumping.

...no. No, that couldn’t be.

“Body is dead. He died getting you out of the fire.”

No. No, that was impossible. Virgil couldn’t be dead. Virgil had taken stabs to the  _ heart _ before and lived. He couldn’t be dead.

And yet, the healer had no reason to lie to him.

Roman’s chest began to hurt more, and not from burns and smoke damage. He took a choking, gasping breath, and began to sob.

Virgil-

_ Virgil had died saving him. _

“I’m sorry,” the healer said quietly. “They already had his memorial last week. Heart and Mind wanted you there, but you were still in a coma.”

Roman doubled over from physical and emotional pain both, covering his mouth with his hands to choke back a sob and to cough.

This time, when he coughed, blood flecked onto his hands--hands wrapped in old bandages. No doubt Roman would be heavily scarred from this, ruining his good looks.

Not that that really mattered when Virgil was dead.

The healer gently pulled him back, leaning him back on pillows. “I understand that you’ll need time to adjust, but I need to change your bandages and then fetch whoever is scheduled to magick you.” They tilted their head. “You’re likely to be tired for quite some time. Even with what Body did, you’re still very injured.”

Roman closed his eyes, tears stinging as they ran down his face.

Virgil.

_ Virgil. _

\-----

The third time Roman woke, it was to the soft sound of a page flipping. His face immediately screwed up in pain, a soft groan escaping his clenched teeth.

“Oh, good,” Logan said, voice washed with relief. “You’re waking.”

Roman pried his eyes open to see Logan staring intently at him, concern clear in his eyes--concern only made more serious as Roman’s gaze dropped from Logan’s eyes to the bandages peeking over the collar of his shirt. His hand was just as bandaged, but gripping his book firmly.

“Lo-” Roman choked out, immediately beginning to cough.

_ “Don’t worry about speaking,”  _ Logan assured telepathically.  _ “I’m perfectly able to provide the energy for the both of us to speak like this.” _

Roman nodded, grimacing at the blood flecking his hand and wrist where he’d put it up to avoid coughing on Logan. Clearly, he was still very injured.

_ “Where’s Patton?” _

Logan’s expression softened.  _ “Sleeping. It’s just after three in the morning.” _

Goodness gracious, what was Roman doing awake? What was  _ Logan _ doing awake?

The corners of Logan’s mouth tugged down.  _ “I couldn’t sleep, and the healers gave me permission to sit with you.” _

Roman frowned at him, turning his head on his pillow to give Logan the full force of his displeasure.  _ “What if-” _

_ “We’re not allowed to take missions right now.” _ Logan sat back in his chair, tucking his thumb in the pages of his book and closing it, laying his other hand on top of the book.  _ “Patton is the only one well enough to fight.”  _ His shoulders slumped and dark blue eyes closed.  _ “And Virgil... is dead.” _

Roman swallowed.  _ “They told me the last time I woke.”  _ There was still a lump in his throat, so he swallowed again, and it plummeted straight into his heart.  _ “I can’t believe it.” _

Logan dipped his head.  _ “Until you woke two days ago, we weren’t even sure you were going to make it. To think that we could have lost half our team in such a short amount of time... it defies logic, given the precautions we took.” _

Roman let his head drop back on his pillow, grunting softly at the impact.  _ “They said there was a fire?” _

Logan nodded, eyes opening.  _ “There was. Virgil was the only one to wake.” _ He hesitated.  _ “I’ve looked over the security footage, at least until the cameras gave out from the heat. All of us slept through the alarm, until it suddenly stopped. Virgil emerged from his room a minute later and immediately ran to Patton’s room. The hallway cameras gave out then, but the sitting room camera shows that he managed to get both Patton and me in that first run.”  _ His fingers ran absently over the cover of his book.  _ “He collapsed before he got up to break the glass and push us out onto the padding below. And still, he went back in for you.” _

Roman closed his eyes. Virgil had gone back for him. If he hadn’t... Virgil would be alive. Roman would be dead, yeah, but... he wouldn’t be the reason Virgil was dead.

_ “Stop that.”  _ Logan narrowed his eyes at Roman.  _ “Virgil knew exactly what he was doing, and would be bearing insufferable guilt if he’d left you behind.” _

_ “I assume you’ve already had his funeral?” _

Logan shifted.  _ “In part. The public memorial was almost a week ago.” _

Roman opened his eyes again, some part of him irritated at the effort that took. He was Soul. Surely he could manage to look at someone he considered a brother.  _ “In part?” _

Logan nodded, removing his glasses and setting them on the bedside table.  _ “His body was unretrievable.” _

All the air rushed out of Roman, and any drowsiness fled as Roman stared at Logan.

_ “The fire was that bad?” _

Logan rubbed his temples. Whether it was because he was tired from staying up so late, tired of all the recent events, or was feeling the strain of having an extended telepathic conversation, it was hard to tell.  _ “No. It didn’t reach a high enough temperature to disintegrate a body in the half hour between the fire overtaking the sitting room where he slid you out the window and emergency responders extinguishing it.” _

Somehow, that was worse.

_ “Did...” _

_ “There is no evidence of him experiencing dissolution. Clearly, he pushed himself to the limits, and the camera gave out before his last moments could be seen, but... the only thing marring his skin was fire and burns. His powers weren’t shining through. And there was no residue when the Director went to investigate after the fact.” _

Roman gaped as best he could. It would have been better with a gasp, certainly, but he didn’t want to start coughing again.  _ “What happened to his body, then?”  _ And then an even more horrible thought occurred to him.  _ “Is he even really dead?” _

Logan leaned forward, glancing at the closed door. Then he shook his head.  _ “Neither Patton nor I think so.” _

Roman blinked. If Patton was convinced Virgil was alive, Virgil was alive. Patton was never wrong about these things. But then...

_ “We don’t know what happened to him. Clearly, someone removed him from the fire before he could have died.” _

_ “Do the cameras show anything?” _

Logan shook his head.  _ “I’m afraid not.”  _ His fingers tapped on his book softly.  _ “However, I spoke with those who put out the fire. The sitting room was one of the first rooms extinguished, since it’s on the edge and the window Virgil broke made things accessible. Virgil wasn’t there, not even five minutes after you were dropped out.” _

Roman frowned, trying to push himself up on the bed, but was too weak to be successful.  _ “What happened in that five minutes?” _

Logan shook his head.  _ “That’s what I don’t know.” _ He frowned, reaching for his glasses again.  _ “There’s more. As I said, the alarm stopped, and all of us slept through it.” _

Roman nodded.

_ “Why?” _

Roman blinked, then frowned.  _ “What do you mean, why?” _

_ “The smoke was incredibly thick, Roman. I could only pick out Virgil because he began using his powers and stood out from the darkness and smoke. Our bodies should have woken us before then. The fire spread too quickly for anything else.” _

Roman’s eyebrows shot together, and he stared at Logan incredulously.  _ “The cake.” _

Logan nodded grimly.

_ “But- it couldn’t have been. Virgil made it. I helped him. He didn’t put anything in it. He didn’t drug us.” _

_ “Not consciously, certainly.”  _ Logan leaned forward.  _ “But there’s always a chance that someone knew when you two were planning on making the cake, and either tampered with or replaced some of the ingredients. None of us slept naturally, Virgil included. We had to have been drugged.” _

The full implications of this hit Roman like a brick in the stomach--though with fewer resulting bruises and less of Virgil lecturing him on safety as he healed Roman.

_ “Virgil was kidnapped?” _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm feeling much recovered from being sick, though I'm still going to be taking things slow. I'll still try to get chapters out fairly regularly, but we'll see how it goes, especially when NaNoWriMo rolls around, since I'll be writing something entirely different for that.
> 
> If you want to hit me up on my Tumblr, you totally can (trulymightypotato.tumblr.com). Asks are open, and so is anon. Feel free to talk to me about this or just drop in and start talking to me. Or don't, if you're not comfortable with it. That's cool too. :D


	5. Shackled

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is one where the whole body horror tag is important, so be aware of that! There's no duplicated body parts, but the body in question is definitely not how it's supposed to be. If you have specific questions, you can direct them to my tumblr (trulymightypotato.tumblr.com) and I'll answer them there. Be safe!

It was quiet, except for the sound of a slow drip echoing in the room. The room itself was uncomfortably cold, even with the blanket pulled over and around Virgil. His power was trying to move, trying to keep him warm, but he was still far too drained to be successful at such a thing.

Virgil cracked his eyes open, a shout trapping itself in his throat at the pain of the action as scabbed skin bent painfully and cracked and tore open.

He could see nothing.

No- no, he could see the slightest of purple glows to his breaths of frozen air. He wasn’t blind. This was just an incredibly dark area.

He shifted slightly, only to groan softly as his body refused to cooperate. Considering how badly he remembered being burned, that was probably for the best. And it definitely explained why he still had a headach-

Virgil frowned as he tried to move his hand to his head and it didn’t. It didn’t even so much as budge. He could feel his muscles (or whatever was currently left of them) flexing, trying to move his wrist, and he felt like he should be strong enough to do that, but... nothing.

He tugged on his wrist again, and this time, he felt the unmistakable press of a handcuff of some kind in his still-tender skin.

He was handcuffed to the bed.

Virgil blinked again, frowning, and tried to move his other arm.

Nothing.

His legs?

The ankles were bound, too.

Virgil took a deep breath, clamping down on the instinctive cry of pain, and let it out in a gasp when his breathing was restricted.

There was a strap over his chest, too.

Where was he? Why was he restrained so tightly that he couldn’t move an inch in any direction? Who had thought that was a good idea? What had happened to the others? Were they okay? Were they trapped like he was? How had he gotten here, wherever “here” was? Why did he feel so drained of power? Why was he so weak that he couldn’t overpower even one of the restraints? What had happened?

He froze as the softest of clicks reached his ears, and then the slightest sound of something swinging open.

And then the Director was staring down at him, fingers resting lightly on Virgil’s chest, face dimly illuminated by Virgil’s gasping, glowing breaths.

No, no, this wasn’t Remy. His hair was all wrong, and he didn’t have a blindfold over his eyes.

He didn’t have eyes at all, granted, but there definitely wasn’t a blindfold. Just what seemed to be ghosts of what had once been eyes, one brown and one yellow, staring down at him. One cheek wasn’t even fully there, but seemed to be partially floating as fragments holding the place they’d once belonged to, showing a grinning skull underneath.

Virgil suddenly found it very difficult to breathe.

“Oh, good,” the half-complete face twisted into a grin, showing teeth all the way across the face. “You’re awake. Here I was, worried.”

Something told Virgil that that was very much not the case, and that he would have done much better for himself if he’d stayed unconscious.

“I hope you don’t mind,” they continued, planting their hand more firmly on Virgil’s chest. “You don’t need this energy as much as I do.”

And with that, a gloved hand drew away from Virgil’s chest, pinching a distinct string of bright purple, pulsing with each beat of Virgil’s heart.

Virgil couldn’t help it. He screamed, his voice immediately splintering into a thousand pieces of agony.

“Now now,” the stranger murmured comfortingly, which didn’t comfort Virgil all that much, “it’ll be over soon.”

It was, in fact, not. Had Virgil seen a clock, he would have realized it took almost ten minutes for the figure to draw out the purple, growing more and more painful with each inch that was pulled.

And then it snapped free, and something inside of Virgil seemed to break, and he could only watch with vision blurred by tears as the purple turned a distinct yellow and wove its way into the figure. Yellow smoke seemed to pool where the cheek wasn’t, and then melted into muscle and tendons.

“Oh, that’s better,” the figure murmured, turning to leave.

Virgil tried to lift his head, tried to say something, tried to do  _ anything,  _ but he was too weak, and his eyes fell closed, awareness gone.

\-----

The next time Virgil woke, he immediately realized his right wrist was free, and he was propped up in a sitting position on something less than comfortable. He was still incredibly cold, though.

Opening his eyes took more concentration than he cared to admit, though once he did, he realized with pleasant surprise that a single candle was lit on a nearby table, providing dim illumination--but illumination all the same.

And what it illuminated--well, it appeared to be a bowl of broth, still steaming slightly from being freshly cooked.

And holding it, the figure from before.

Virgil flinched away the best he could, though it was with quite a bit of alarm that he realized he was too weak to even do that.

“Here,” they said, holding the bowl to Virgil’s mouth and slowly beginning to tip it.

It was infuriating, humiliating, to be reduced to such a state that he didn’t even have the strength to feed himself. He barely had the energy to slowly swallow.

The broth didn’t taste all that good (it had clearly been left on the heat far too long, and tasted distinctly of salt and burnt), and there was always the distinct possibility that this being who used Virgil’s own... essence? to build a form was planning on poisoning him with it, but Virgil couldn’t bring himself to care. If he wanted to get out of here, he had to regain strength, he had to heal. He couldn’t do that unless he ate what he was given. And if the broth was poisoned, well, at least then he wouldn’t have to go through this being siphoning off of him again.

Quite a lot of the broth ended up dribbling down Virgil’s chin and onto his chest, soaking into the tattered clothing someone had put on him. It was warm, admittedly, and that was nice, but it also left a weirdly heavy feeling, as if it was making it hard to breathe.

The broth was gone so quickly, though, that Virgil was left realizing just how  _ hungry _ he was, and that the broth had barely put a dent in that.

“Fortunately for you,” the figure said, leaving Virgil to watch as the newly-formed cheek muscles flexed and tensed, “I need you alive.” A smirk. “However, I don’t see what’s wrong with this current arrangement. You just need to be alive. There’s no need for you to gain the strength to heal, or to feed yourself. It’s a solution the both of us can get behind.”

Virgil tried to lift his hand to wipe at his face, to get the broth off, to try to regain  _ some  _ semblance of dignity, but it remained heavy and uncooperative--it slid a bit, certainly, but doing so felt like more exertion than carrying both Logan and Patton out of the fire had been.

This wasn’t right. This wasn’t right--he was supposed to be with his family, his mothers, the men he’d come to consider brothers. They were supposed to be trying to plan a surprise party for Logan next month (though he always found out about it), not having him trapped here, so weak he couldn’t even wipe himself clean after someone else fed him.

He was supposed to be with the others, not stranded by himself.

At least, he hoped he was stranded by himself. If the others were here, if Virgil had failed to get them to safety... he didn’t know what he’d do.

“I look forward to our next meeting,” the figure murmured with a smirk, turning to leave-

No footsteps sounded, and Virgil was left staring with wide eyes.

The figure had had no legs, had had no lower body at all. And yet, he’d moved as if he were walking, as if he knew perfectly how things were supposed to go.

That wasn’t the worst of it, though. The worst of it was that where the legs were supposed to go was a distinctly familiar cloud of slightly golden smoke--a cloud that had taken shape over Virgil in the fire. A cloud that had attacked a city and taken dozens of lives, bodies disappearing--including those of Team Elemental.

A cloud that, now that Virgil was here, Virgil was powering. A cloud that had hurt people before, and would hurt them again.

“Don’t be so distraught,” the figure said at the door, not even looking over his shoulder. “By giving me your energy, you’re helping people. Didn’t you know that?”

The door closed, and Virgil was left staring at it in horror.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Perfect Halloween chapter c:


	6. What Remains of a Family

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aww yeah, I'm back!
> 
> Also, lore! A goal! Plot progress!

Roman’s clinic room was frequently very full now that he’d woken and was successfully staying awake for at least a few hours each day. Logan and Patton weren’t allowed in when a healer was tending to Roman, but Remy had insisted on putting spare blankets in the room for when one of them fell asleep in there keeping Roman company.

Patton thought that was nice.

Slowly, as Roman grew stronger and healed more, he graduated from sleeping all of the day to only half of it, and he started to be able to walk the halls of the clinic--slowly, and with one person providing support and another walking along close by in case Roman fell (which happened more than once). Once the healers were confident Roman was really improving and not just pushing himself too hard, they allowed Patton and Logan to be the people doing that.

And as they walked, they talked.

Well, Patton talked. Roman didn’t have enough air to walk and talk at the same time, and Logan didn’t care much for small talk, but that was okay. Patton could fill in the spaces.

“I found some books in Remy’s library,” Patton said. “I think you’d like them, Lo. They look to be history books. I didn’t get very far in them, but if you want I can bring them in tomorrow when I stop by.”

“A history of what?”

“One of them was about historical architecture in Averdome, though I figure you’d probably already know a lot about that one, since you grew up there and all.”

“I wouldn’t mind reading it just to be sure.”

Patton grinned. “I can definitely bring that one, then.” He skipped slightly. “Oh, and Roman, I think I found one you’d like. It’s architecture too, but it’s for the temples. There are a lot of illustrations in them, talking about the embroidery put in the curtains and the patterns in the rugs and how they still hand-weave the fabric used to clothe the statues, and what the color combinations mean, and why none of the statues have faces, and-”

Roman looked up at that, raising an eyebrow inquisitively, but was breathing too heavily to speak.

Patton grinned. “Okay, I can bring that one for you tomorrow.” He bounced. “But I  _ did _ read that part. Want me to tell you about it?”

Roman nodded, but returned his gaze to his shuffling feet and continued moving.

Patton grinned widely, though a soft mental touch from Logan proved it wasn’t as convincing as he was hoping it was.

“Okay, so you know how in all the temples, when you go to the little rooms that host the prayer statues, none of the statues have heads? They just have smooth neck stumps, like when you and Virge cut off those hydra heads.” Patton pulled his arms to his chest and flailed his hands, mimicking flailing necks. “So there’s actually a reason for that.”

Roman nodded again, tightening his grip around Logan’s shoulders. Logan grunted softly, but kept pace with Roman.

“The book goes into a lot of detail about it, but basically, it’s because nobody really actually knows what the deity look like.” Patton turned and started walking backwards so he could keep facing Roman as he talked to him. “There are a lot of rumors and ideas, but we don’t actually know.”

Roman raised his eyebrows and sent Patton a questioning glance.

“What are the ideas? Well, there’s that one rumor that when a deity chooses a Special team, the people on it start to look like that deity. It’s why older teammates are all so recognizable--even when they don’t actually look like each other, they look like each other.” Patton shrugged. “Nobody can agree on whether it’s because their powers start to share across each other and that changes them or if it’s really the deity thing.” He grinned. “Either way, it’s pretty cool. People in a found family, who really probably don’t look like each other, starting to look like an actual genetic family? That’s just something to draw us all together.”

Roman stopped and looked up, chest heaving, emotional distress radiating off of him.

Patton frowned. “Ro? What’s wrong?”

Roman jerked his head to the side, looking down at the floor, and didn’t respond--though tears started sliding down his face.

“Ro?” Patton stepped closer. What was causing Roman to feel such distress?

Logan looked over at Roman, frowning, then pushed his glasses up with a slight frown. “Roman, that’s completely unnecessary. I know for a fact fanboys are already calling you ‘ruggedly scarred’ rather than ‘horribly disfigured,’ and we certainly won’t ‘get infected by the scars.’ Scars are your body doing its best to protect you, be kind to them, and be kind to your mental health by recognizing that your fears are unfounded.”

Patton blinked, stepping closer again and offering Roman a hug. “Awh, come on. We’ll be fine. We just gotta stick together and we’ll get through this.”

Roman stared at him, but didn’t deny the hug, so Patton went for it. Slowly, Roman’s alarm dissolved into gratefulness, and then into guilt.

No, not guilt. Grief.

“Hey,” Patton assured, pulling back and giving Roman a steady smile, though he didn’t really feel like it. Nobody else knew that, though. “Virge would want us to do our best and be happy.”

Roman shook his head, then rasped out, “How can we stick together without Virgil?”

Patton frowned. “We don’t know where he is, but that doesn’t mean we’re going to abandon him. We’ll find him. Somehow.”

“I believe it’s almost time for your next healing session,” Logan said softly. “Let’s get you back, and after you rest we can talk about what to do next.”

Roman hesitated, then nodded.

\-----

Roman was very clearly excited about something. So excited, in fact, that Patton could feel it radiating down the hall as he went to visit Roman for the day.

He hugged the books Logan had asked for closer and took off down the hall in a sprint--nevermind he was the only of the team able to sprint right now--and skidded into Roman’s room with a grin stretched across his face.

“Hey, champ, what’s got you so excited?”

Logan looked up from his reading, only to look over in surprise as Roman flipped the book he was holding around and tapped a paragraph repeatedly, nearly bouncing on his bed.

Logan reached over and took the book, cleared his throat, and read.

“The long-abandoned northern city of Mount Haven, otherwise known as the City of Angels or the City of Gods, is the ancient home of the deity and the original training ground for those who protect the human race with powers from the gods--then known as Angels.

“When war broke out among the gods, Angels turned against the source of their powers to protect the human race, as was their creed. They were successful, but for their crime, they were cast down and forbidden from ever returning. No longer were they identifiable from birth, and no longer in possession of the gift of invincibility, they scattered across the world to protect those who could not protect themselves.

“For many generations, our protectors and guardians were called by many names: Protectors, Guardians, Defenders, Warriors. Today, they are called Specials, members of a Special Task Force. Their powers remain, as if not all the gods turned their backs on humanity after the war.

“It is said that in order to bestow powers on a Special, a god must specifically choose the vessel for their power. The four members of a team are thought to have a lesser version of the god which chose them, but there’s no proof for that. Only rumors and speculation. Still, it makes one wonder: do the gods watch their vessels, and do they care for them? How are they chosen? Are they once again allowed to return to Mount Haven, or are they banished forever?”

Patton tilted his head. “That’s a lot of history, but I don’t understand what’s so exciting.”

“Mount Haven,” Roman rasped, a grin splitting his face. “The gods live there. Whoever chose us--they have to know where Virge is. We can find him, bring him home.”

Logan slowly sat up straight, flipping quickly through the pages, as if searching for evidence to support or destroy this hope. 

Patton’s eyes widened, and he grinned himself. “That’s an incredible idea, Ro!” He paused. “Do you think it’ll work?”

“It would require significantly more research,” Logan said, not looking up from the book. “We need more information to determine where Mount Haven might be located, and we need to prepare for a lengthy journey. It’s certainly likely we wouldn’t be given permission for this informational quest, so once we’re ready we’ll need to leave with stealth and haste.” He frowned, looking at something on the page. “The gods, however, are repeatedly said to be omniscient, though not omnipotent. Surely, whoever gave us our powers will know where Virgil is. It’s a stretch, certainly, but it’s our only lead.”

Patton put his hands to his face and grinned, eyes flicking between Logan and Roman.

“What?” Logan asked.

“Guys, did you catch it?” Patton grinned wider. “We’re  _ angels.” _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still gonna have infrequent updates. I'm really starting to put the plot together, though, so that might help. 
> 
> Until next time!


	7. Sandman

There were no maps to Mount Haven.

This wasn’t a surprise, Logan noted as he thumbed through more pages, but it was frustrating. Until recently, he’d thought such a place to be part of legend, nothing more. There had never been a reason to try and figure out where it hypothetically could have been located.

Still, Roman and Patton had their hearts set on it, and Logan had no desire to disappoint them, even if he wasn’t sure this was the proper course of action. Sneaking away in the middle of the night on the off chance that Patton’s powers were strong enough to accurately sense Virgil being alive?

And yet... the evidence stood that  _ something _ had happened that night at their home. Science dictated that the fire should have left a large portion of Virgil’s body to be found, so the lack of one was suspect.

Logan put another book back to be shelved, having come up with nothing, and sent a curious thought out towards Roman and Patton. A pause, and then both of them gave him a quiet mental brush, like an affectionate shoulder bump. Both of them were alright, then, he decided. Good.

He didn’t think he could handle losing another of the young men he’d come to consider, however reluctantly, brothers.

They’d more or less dragged him into it.

Not that he was really going to complain about it.

Logan paced further into the archives. If he could find records of the last Specials to see Mount Haven... maybe they left a clue behind. It was the only thing he could think of working.

“Mind,” Remy’s voice asked with a calmness that didn’t match the breakneck pace of the Director’s thoughts, “what are you doing back here?”

“I wanted to search the archives,” Logan said, not turning around. That much was the truth. “Roman’s been concerned about the nature of the fire. I wanted to assure him such a thing had never happened before.” That was the lie, but it wasn’t unreasonable. Every death that had ever occurred among Specials was recorded in the archives, in their personal records. Most of them hadn’t been digitally copied yet, so a physical search wasn’t unreasonable.

“Not that I can recall.”

Logan turned to look over his shoulder at the silhouette of Remy. “May I ask why you’re back here?”

“You set off proximity alarms.” Remy tilted his head, expression flat. “This isn’t the section of the archive that has Special files, Mind. Why don’t you ‘fess up, tell me the truth of why you’re back here.”

Logan pursed his lips. He’d overlooked that.

“Why do you have proximity alarms back here?”

Remy stepped forward. “Answer the question.”

“That’s certainly not an answer on your end.” Logan shook his head. “Patton found something about a place called Mount Haven. He’s convinced it holds answers. I’m not. But he’d be able to tell if I lied about searching for information, so here I am.”

Remy stepped fully into the light, expression dull and angry. For a second, as the light passed over his face, his eyes seemed to reflect an endless night, cold gold stars flickering in his eyes, cold gold the color of the cloud that had killed Team Elemental.

Cold gold that sent an unstoppable chill down Logan’s spine.

“Where are your sunglasses, sir?” Logan managed. “I thought you always wore them.”

“Stay away from that place,” Remy warned, tone low and dangerous, eyes seeming to begin to glow that endless midnight blue. “Don’t look for things better left forgotten.”

“I’ll do my best to talk the others out of it, sir,” Logan said quietly, desperately reaching a thought to Patton and Roman- it was like his magic was asleep, like something was suffocating it, preventing him from using it. He looked at Remy’s eyes again, gasping softly when he realized Remy’s hands were covered in a fine dusting of midnight blue, that when the light from the lamp glinted off of them just right, they were gold.

The same gold of the clouds.

“What do you hope to find there?” Remy lifted a hand, and Logan’s sense of alarm began to lull, began to slip into a slumber, began to give way to an uncontrollable urge to blabber everything he knew about the plan.

Logan was many things, but he was not a blabbermouth.

Logan hauled a mental wall up, dividing the urge in half, and nearly stumbled at the freedom it provided. The pressure building up against that mental wall was immense, but he had to hold strong. He had to.

Virgil’s life might depend on it.

“I don’t know, sir.” It was always a bit odd to call Remy sir. Technically, it was correct--Remy  _ was _ indeed his commanding officer. But there was always just... something... Remy never seemed much older than Logan did. It was like he’d stopped aging. Immortality did that, he supposed, but... never had he realized Remy only seemed to be mid-twenties. At most. “I suppose Patton wants to find our sponsor deity. He hopes they’ll have answers.”

“The gods abandoned us centuries ago,” Remy’s eyes bore into Logan, and he could feel his mental resistance to Remy’s magic crumbling, being chipped at with the concussive force of a sledgehammer. “And then they destroyed themselves. The ones who survived don’t  _ care _ about humans anymore. They don’t care about  _ anything. _ You won’t get any answers there.”

“Frankly, sir, you don’t know that.”

Remy shook his head. “Logan. Don’t. You’ll find nothing but grief.”

“I’m trying to find something that’ll talk them out of it, sir.” 

Remy’s hands bunched into fists, fine sand slipping out from between his fingers, nearly electric-looking magic dancing over his fingers.

“That’s not good enough. Stay away from Mount Haven. That’s an order.”

“No offense meant, sir, but we’re off duty until further notice.” Logan lifted his chin. “You currently don’t have jurisdiction over us.”

Midnight and gold dust exploded from around Remy, swirling and very nearly entirely surrounding Remy and Logan.

“You’re going to  _ die. _ You’re going to be  _ consumed _ by the power, and if it doesn’t push you into dissolution it’ll drive you  _ insane, _ and who  _ knows _ what physical effects it would have.”

Logan blinked. “I’m sorry, what?”

Remy’s shoulders dropped, and the electric-ish magic picked up. The dust swirled faster, and Logan’s heart jumped to his throat. Like this... like this, Remy’s magic looked like a dark cloud shimmering gold. It... looked like the...

“Director... Remy...” Logan murmured, too shocked to speak up. “Did... did you kill Team Elemental?”

Remy’s shoulders bunched tight, and he opened his hands as far as they’d go. The storm froze around them, revealing itself to be millions, if not billions, of midnight blue dust sparkling gold.

Remy stared at the dust, expression fading from anger into grief. “I see.” He blinked, looking over at Logan, eyes swirling midnight and gold. “I... I see.”

The dust came crashing down on Logan, and his body immediately gave in to the overwhelming need to sleep, to relax, to be still, to  _ not _ go to Mount Haven.

“You’re going to die,” Remy whispered, lulling Logan off to nothing. “You’re going to go north of the world, and... you’ll die like... you’ll die like my brothers. And there won’t be a god alive who cares enough to take pity on you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It'll be a little while before the next update--I'm having to squeeze in writing for this between trying to finish PPC, work, working on a fan game, helping with a comic, family stuff, friend stuff, and making videos. Not much time to spare, unfortunately. But I'm not abandoning it! I'm determined to get this done, sooner or later.


	8. The World Behind

Patton glanced in the back seat of the car, checking on Roman and Logan. Roman gave him a thumbs up, patting the seatbelt fastening the sleeping Logan into his seat.

Patton nodded and started the engine.

Streetlights slipped by in the darkness, skyscrapers dark but glimmering with reflected light, car lights flickering on and powering off as people working odd-hour shifts left and arrived home, apartments filled with darkness and apartments lit with silhouettes showing a group of friends or a fight or a pet, the soft glow of a nightlight dancing across the ceiling of a small child’s room.

Roman let out a long sigh, staring at it all.

He could feel all the souls in the buildings, undeniable presences existing and living. Some of them were damaged, hurting, doing their best. Some were practically glowing, something he’d come to learn meant they were rejoicing, the happiest they’d ever been.

This was a city of five million--one of the largest cities in the human lands. Rumors had it larger existed in the Mer Republic, but he had never seen them to know for sure. The Mer didn’t care for humans much, and only tolerated the trade ships that crossed between the various continents and peoples because of the treaties that had been negotiated on shores. The gifts dropped overboard probably helped. (At least, that was what his old friend Liya had said when they’d hang out in the neutral shallow waters just offshore.)

Roman had traveled before, certainly--he’d left Miramia on the western shores when he’d joined the team. He still wrote his family there, and they’d send him pictures of the sunset glittering on the water every few weeks and videos of fun things they were doing. He’d always respond, of course, but he knew his emails were monitored.

He’d gotten one a few days ago. He’d just sent back the news headline about what had happened to his team with a simple “I’m going to need time.”

He didn’t know if his fathers had gotten it yet. Sometimes the screening process took a few days.

As Patton pulled onto the freeway headed north to the suburbs of Horizon and the highway that allowed access to the farms there and, eventually, the thick forests and mountains beyond, they passed the sleek city center, with its windows that doubled as displays. Normally, the upper levels displayed advertisements for upcoming plays or performances or political meetings there while the lower ones detailed schedules or featured winners of various contests and competitions.

Now, it looped a simple animation: the Team Spirit sigil, each respective part colored with the color magic of the members, waved on a dark background. Then, some of the recent publicity pictures of the team--taken at their last public appearance, a few weeks before the fire.

The three of them faded away, leaving just Virgil there with the sigil on that dark background. Lavender text displaying his birth and death dates in the bottom corner.

Then Virgil faded, too, and the loop began over again.

Roman let his head drop against the window of the car, cool glass calming. Virgil had always hated those public appearances. He adored the people, of course--each time they did one, Virgil would end up lifting up half a dozen giggling kids at once. More than he’d spend talking to the adults, actually.

It was incredible, how much Virgil had loved the people of Horizon, and yet hated the attention. Roman adored the people, of course, but he  _ thrived _ off their adoration in return. He was their  _ hero,  _ of  _ course _ he was going to take the praise he deserved. They didn’t even have to say anything--he could feel their souls  _ beam _ when they met him. Why wouldn’t Virgil want to give people that feeling?

Roman could only hope he’d get the chance to ask one day.

“You doing okay back there?” Patton asked, glancing back in the rearview mirror. “You’re... feeling pretty turbulent.”

“Oh. Sorry, Pat.” Roman lifted his head off the window. “I’m just... thinking about Virge.”

“I figured.” Patton’s gaze settled firmly on the road again. “That’s not a bad thing, you know. He’s our brother, or as good as one. You’re allowed to miss him. To worry about him.”

“I wasn’t-” Roman looked away, at Logan. “I never told him how much I love him. How much I love all of you. You’re the family I never imagined I’d have out here. It’s... not the same as it is with my dads, or with my siblings back home, but... you’re still all my brothers. And... just... Virge risked everything for us, for me. He didn’t have to go back in for me. But he did. And now he’s been kidnapped, and our only hope is to find Mount Haven and hope whoever our patron god is knows where Virgil is.” He shook his head. “We’ve had a lot of long shots in our life, Pat, but... somehow I think this is the longest long shot.”

“Yeah, probably.” Patton shrugged one shoulder. “But we aren’t going to abandon him.”

“Of course not!” Roman bristled, then slumped into his seat. “It’s just... I can barely walk by myself right now. I hardly ever have the energy to stay up for more than four or five hours at a time. I don’t even have the energy to fly. What good am I going to be in this? Maybe you should have just left me behind.”

“Don’t put yourself down like that,” Patton said firmly. “You’re going to be able to do lots of things, you know that?” He took a deep breath, fingers relaxing on the steering wheel. “You almost died, Ro. It’s going to take time to really recover from that. It’s okay. It’s not going to slow us down. I promise. We’ll get Virge back.”

Roman frowned. “I... are you sure? How do we know I won’t slow us all down?”

“Well, I don’t. I don’t know that I won’t slow us down, either. Or that Logan won’t. We don’t know how long he’s going to be asleep after Remy blew some dust in his face, after all.” Patton scratched his head. “We don’t know a lot of things about the future. That’s okay. We’re together. We’ll figure it out.”

Roman looked over at Logan again, this time noting the slight midnight glitter that sparkled softly in the passing streetlights. “You think Lo will be okay?”

“Yeah, I think so. Remy wouldn’t have let us leave for the cabin otherwise.”

Roman let out a long breath. “Do you think he knew we were lying?”

“We’re not. We  _ are _ going to the cabin. We’re going to stay there for at least a week or so. We’ve got to plan this out all properly, anyway, where nobody will overhear us.” Patton hesitated. “After that, well, we’re Virgil’s only hope. We’ve got to do it. We’ll ask for forgiveness later.”

“Have you been to the cabin before?” Roman grabbed onto the new topic with no small amount of relief. “Virgil’s mothers own it, right?”

“I haven’t. Lo has--three years ago. Y’know, when I went to Miramia with you for the summer? Lo went with Virge for a few weeks.”

“Right.” Roman had forgotten about that, but that was a silly thing to forget. Logan and Virgil had stayed close to Horizon in case something had happened and the city needed two more Specials. “I’ll ask him about it when he wakes up, then.”

“Sure thing.” Patton paused, hesitated, before his shoulders slumped. “Virgil’s mothers, they... they said not to worry about staying there for too long, that it’s there for us for as long as we need it.” He sighed. “I... I could barely get through that conversation. They’re both grieving so much, it was like I was drowning in their emotions.” His fingers tightened on the steering wheel, even as Roman looked over in surprise. “I can’t blame them, and it’s certainly not the first time I’ve felt strong grief, but...”

Roman squinted his eyes. “But what?”

“I’ve never wanted to overwrite someone’s emotions so much before.”

Roman sat up straight.

“I know it’s wrong, that I shouldn’t, but-” Patton cut himself off. “I didn’t. I just... Virgil was a lot to deal with sometimes, but we all love him. They don’t deserve to feel like that, not when he’s alive and we’re going to go find him.”

“Pat-” Roman cut himself off. “That must have been hard. I’m sorry.”

“Yeah. Me too.” Patton sighed and he leaned more forward in his seat. “I still think I should have, though.”

Roman hummed noncommittally, turning his face back to the window to watch the city fade to suburbs and then into fields. “I... think I’m going to take a nap. Wake me when we take a break.”

“Will do.” Patton’s eyes glanced at Roman again through the rearview mirror, but he said nothing more and merely returned the full of his attention to driving.

Roman closed his eyes and reached inside himself for the stirrings of power that had been slowly returning as he’d been recovering. There wasn’t much--he was still far too exhausted for there to be much--but he didn’t need much.

He reached it out towards Patton, exposing Patton’s soul.

His heart dropped.

Patton’s soul was strained, nearly fractured, as if the past few weeks had just about broken the Heart of Team Spirit.

Roman withdrew his power, allowing himself to slip into much-needed sleep.

If that’s what Patton’s looked like, as the most cheerful member of the team, then what did Roman’s own soul look like?


End file.
